up under those lights yonder," he cried to cabby through the trap
in the roof, and cabby, seeing no bar in close proximity, marvelled as
he obeyed. Forrest sprang out, turned back, and in another moment was
raising his hat to the girl, who glanced up with nervous start and
repellent mien that only slowly changed to recognition. Even then there
was womanly reserve, and much of it, in her manner.

"Pardon me, Miss Wallen, I never dreamed of such a thing as your walking
all the way home, and after such a long day's work. My cab is right
here; please let me drive you the rest of the way."

"Thank you, no," she answered, quietly. "I always walk after a long
day's work. It is exercise and pleasure both."

"But surely you are very late, and--forgive my reminding you of your
recent unpleasant experience."

"No one else ever chased me," she said, "and I don't think even he would
had he not been drinking. You seem to have scared him away, for not once
have I set eyes on him since."

"But you will ride, won't you? It would be a pleasure--some comfort to
my conscience--if I might send you home, after the lot that you have
done and the little you would take." They had reached the cab now, and
he stopped invitingly, but she never faltered, and only turned towards
him and slackened her steps sufficiently to repeat her thanks and a
courteous refusal.

"Upon my word, you make me ashamed of my own laziness," said Forrest. "I
used to be a good tramper on the Plains, but have been getting out of
the way of it. At least I may walk a little way with you, may I not?"

And this she could not well see how to decline. Cabby was dismissed with
a _douceur_, and Forrest hastened after his new acquaintance. She
carried some bundles in her arms, and he offered to take them. He had
his own, however, and she declined. He shifted his packet of triplicates
under the right arm and tendered her, with courteous bow, the left, and
she "preferred to trudge along without it, thank you," yet in so
pleasant a way he could not find fault. He walked all the way to her
little home, and bade her good-night with the promise that when he
returned in February he would be glad to have another eighteen thousand
words transcribed in triplicate for seventeen dollars and odd cents.

"You can't," said she, with her same quiet smile. "It will cost eighteen
at least. Your fifteen cents change to-day was for my share of the cab."

He was on duty in the judge-advocate's